


Strong Hands

by sixxxteentons



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Age Difference, D/s, Drugs, F/M, Face Slapping, Het, Humiliation, Oral, Pregnancy Kink, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:11:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5682625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxxteentons/pseuds/sixxxteentons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'"This long, hm? You're telling me, you're telling me you didn't have five minutes to sneak off, to come find me?"<br/>"What?!" You pushed against him, trying to sit upright again and get out of his arms but his hand moved as fast as an arrow, pinning you in place with an almost painful grip on the back of your neck. A warning.<br/>And you remembered when your friend had had kittens, and showed you how limp and pliable they became once you gripped their scruff just so, and you struggled even harder. "What the hell are you talking about, you old lecher?!"<br/>But it was a hiss, not a shout. And he knew it was intentional, because for some reason you weren't trying to get anyone's attention but his.'</p>
<p>Rick Sanchez is a disgusting old chancer and you don't mind. Or at least you don't mind for very long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strong Hands

The sun had passed its zenith while you walked through suburbia, watching the houses glide by slowly and feeling like a visitor at a zoo who’s just looked up and realized the park is closed for the day and they’ve been stranded among the exhibits. Summer had been telling you of her projects and her vision, the colleges she was hoping to apply to and just how many uses you could find for such a great colour as turquoise as you walked side by side, and your attention wandered off and returned without being much missed.  
She was an impressive personality, and you were glad you had decided to lend her a hand with her portfolio. Her ideas were sometimes a little half-baked but wonderfully wholehearted in that teenage way which was at once admirable and a little embarrassing. A lot of the things she said made you smile, sometimes with her, sometimes at her. Your coat billowed around your legs in the mild spring breeze and the scene around you was almost eerily peaceful.  
As you made it up the path to the low house Summer fell silent. She opened the door and glanced around, more nervous now than you’d seen her all afternoon.  
“God, I hope grandpa Rick isn’t around today, he can be so-” Summer’s eyes narrowed and she cut herself off when she heard the TV erupt in a cacophony of high-pitched squealing noises. “urgh,” she finished.

You watched her quietly, politely waiting for an explanation, or at least an invitation to hang up your coat or get a cup of tea after the walk.  
“Would you… like the grand tour?”  
You could tell Summer was at least half hoping you’d decline, but you weren’t sure if it was because of her teenage anti-family sensibilities or some other, more tangible reason.  
Well, it was your first visit, and if these little coaching sessions were to become a regular thing, it would be nice to know where the instant coffee was to be found and where you could sneak off to to have a bit of a lie-down.  
“Yes please.”  
“Alright…” Summer made it clear that whatever came of this, you had brought it upon yourself, but lead on, helpfully pointing out such landmarks as “a picture of my brother’s dog, he um… sort of outgrew us” and “my dad picked these curtains, please don’t judge me for them”. Through it all the television pierced through the conversation at regular intervals; odd noises and unintelligible vocals followed each other. Someone was channel-hopping and… oh wow. Impressively gassy. Summer caught your reaction and looked again as if the author of the noises was quickly gaining priority on her hit list.  
“That’s my granddad. Please ignore him, he’s a disgusting old creep.”  
Hm. Well that could go either way, couldn’t it - there wasn’t much creepiness you couldn’t get into if the creep was good enough looking. But someone’s granddad? That might be stretching it a bit.  
“Alright,” you reassured her. “I’m good at ignoring people. This is a nice kitchen, by the way. I wish mine had this many surfaces.”  
Summer gave you a look of polite confusion - cooking was a chore, not a hobby. What did extra surfaces matter? Ah, but she’d probably change her tune once she got her own first apartment.  
You leaned back against the door frame as Summer pulled everything she needed from the cupboards to make you both a cup of tea, and marveled at her confidence. Had you been that self assured at seventeen? It seemed too long ago to even remember - the memory was just a haze of anxiety, pimples and existential dread.  
The sound of approaching - and unsteady - feet stalled your train of thought and you both looked over to see a tall figure blocking out the light from the other room.  
  
He was a vision, possibly of the end of days. Stained t-shirt which clashed horribly  with a pair of beige slacks riding up around the ankles, sleep-creased… lab coat? And… did he style his hair like that in the mornings, or did it Sonic all by itself? But even with those bags under his eyes and the receding hair line, this man couldn’t be much more than sixty and his gaze was piercing and unimpressed. Unimpressed, that was, until he fixed you with it and unashamedly let it roam across your body.  
“Well, well, -urp- well,” he managed before unfreezing and marching past Summer to the fridge, still eyeing you. “Summer, Summer. You never told me you had a _friend_.”  
“She’s not my friend. She’s helping me work on my portfolio. You know, for college?”  
You blinked, nodded in confirmation and kept watching the lanky figure with fascination. He soon caught this, and winked sarcastically. “That explains it, then.”  
“It’s nice to meet you, mr Smith,” you said, ignoring all evidence to the contrary. Had that been a leer? Being leered at was unfortunately not something new to you, but it usually didn’t happen so openly and in such an awkward context. And usually not at three in the afternoon in suburbia.  
The man bared his teeth. “Sanchez. Mr Sanchez.” Mr Sanchez seemed to consider this. “Unless you were trying to flatter me about my age, in which case I might take it.”  
Summer obviously thought that this amount of interest and relative politeness was not a good sign. “Grandpa Rick, don’t you have some screws loose you can get back to…?”  
“Soh-rry.” He finished rummaging in the fridge and hid an impressive number of beer cans about his person with unsteady movements. Perhaps he was nothing like this when he was sober, and you should let his hints go unnoticed so as to not mortify the whole family. “I was just distracted by your-your new, uh, _teacher_.”  
He leaned against the fridge and renewed his staring. You stared straight back, refusing to be flustered, or intimidated or… whatever it was he was hoping for.  
“Grandpa Rick!”  
“You’re a Judas goat, Su-urp-ummer.” Mr Sanchez accepted your challenge and once again looked you up and down, pausing at your chest, your tight jeans, your heeled black boots. A slim hand came down to theatrically adjust his belt buckle.  
“Would you please _fuck off_!” Summer panted with anger and embarrassment, and he finally shrugged and turned to walk off the way he’d come.  
“Sure,” he drawled over his shoulder. “But when that little lamb gets slaughtered, you’ve no one to blame but yourself.”  
  
Okay, so now you were blushing too, both infuriated and shocked. You wanted to bite back, but couldn’t think of anything clever to say, at least nothing you should utter in the company of a minor. Mr Sanchez - Rick - looked like something the cat had dragged in and then puked on, and he had the nerve to make it sound as if you falling to your knees in front of him was just a matter of time. It had to be the drink talking, but this was beyond what you could gloss over just to be polite.  
“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath, half tempted to spit in his direction. But Summer looked like she might actually explode, and this was her house and her embarrassment. You had to settle for cursing the old fart in the privacy of your own mind.

The minutes marched on, the tea cooled, and you and Summer recovered in her room as you lay out her sketches on the floor and discussed them. You shared techniques, hinted gently at mistakes she’d made and tried to guide her onto new ones, and all the while the fact that downstairs, that repulsive old man might be thinking about you just as you were thinking about him did nothing to help you concentrate.  
He might be thinking about you… he might even be stroking himself while thinking about you. Before you could stop your brain, it painted a perfect picture across your mind’s canvas - him, slouching on the couch, his long legs spread wide with his pants pulled down just below his ass, eyes shut and his slim hand gripping his painfully hard cock tight as if to punish it, cursing under his breath as he pulled his foreskin back and forth to tease the glistening head, picturing you between his knees, leaning in to nuzzle and suck his heavy balls… Christ!  
You froze up in the middle of putting a book back onto the shelf and struggled to purge your mind of that image. What had you ever done to your brain for it to treat you like this?! Gross, gross and wrong and fucked up. As usual. Did things have to be messed up for you to like them? What was so lacking about, just as an example, an actually good looking person your own age, maybe thirty at most, who was, for instance, a nice person? But oh no, that just wouldn’t be interesting enough, would it?!  
Summer had watched your expression go from momentarily intrigued, to mortified, to seething with anger in the span of a few seconds and cut in with “are… you okay, there?”  
“Fine. I’m just… having an argument with myself.”  
“I think you’re going to fit in here hand in glove,” she muttered under her breath and turned her attention back to her work.

An awkward family meal, a half-hushed argument overheard from the kitchen, some nagging about bed times and the day came to a close for the Smith family. You drifted through it all, sometimes obviously blocking the flow of their habits, trying to keep your composure and put everyone at ease with some polite jokes and some gentle steering of the conversation. Now you were left at the bottom of the stairs with a bundle of bed clothes in your arms and a mind too awake for sleep.  It was really very nice of them to spare you such a late trip home and the expense of a meal, but the place was still new and had no room for you yet.  
The argument seemed to have migrated into the master bedroom, but that and the TV being turned on again were the only sounds left in the house. The TV… oh well, here went nothing.  
  
You flicked on the light when you walked into the sitting room, and Rick turned lazily in his seat to see who’d disturbed him. “Oh,” he said meaningfully, then turned his attention back to the soap opera he was watching.  
“Your daughter told me I could sleep here tonight.”  
“On the couch? How generous.” He seemed calmer now, a little less affected. His movements were much more steady. “Well,” he resumed, “make yourself, you know, make yourself comfortable because I’m going to be here a while.”  
With a barely hidden sigh, you dumped your things on the other end of the couch. This left quite a narrow gap for you but you took it, and pushed yourself as far away from Rick as you could go. He watched this out of the corner of his eye, then looked around, tilting his head as if listening for something. And in the next moment his arm was around you, pulling you in so roughly that your head fell against his chest. Your shocked intake of breath brought his scent deep into your lungs and against all logic the rush of your blood seemed to spread it into your limbs, making your legs tremble and your hands weak as if it were a poison. You had expected a stench, BO at the very least, but he smelled of skin-warmed, old fashioned after shave, something subtly chemical and, less surprisingly, of whiskey. With the clarity of mind one only has in the middle of a fall, you reflected that it was quite a nice cocktail. And then that fraction of a second had passed and his hot breath was at your ear.  
  
“This long, hm? You’re telling me, you’re telling me you didn’t have five minutes to sneak off, to come find me?”  
“What?!” You pushed against him, trying to sit upright again and get out of his arms but his hand moved as fast as an arrow, pinning you in place with an almost painful grip on the back of your neck. A warning. And you remembered when your friend had had kittens, and showed you how limp and pliable they became once you gripped their scruff just so, and you struggled even harder. “What the hell are you talking about, you old lecher?!”  
But it was a hiss, not a shout. And he knew it was intentional, because for some reason you weren’t trying to get anyone’s attention but his.  
Rick laughed, but it was mirthless and rough. “Don’t play coy. You could have come down here to suck me any time you wanted, but you made me wait. And I’m-I’m-I’m not a very patient man.”  
Suck me. The words made you twitch, spread a feeling through your thighs like the first sudden drop on a roller coaster. If you weren’t wet before, you sure as hell were now.  
“Fuck you, you deluded piece of shit!”  
“You’re going to regret saying that.”  
There was a rustle of skin against fabric and just as you twisted free from his grip something stung you painfully in the shoulder. “ _Ow!_ ”  
You sat up and stared at him and God, what was that in his hand?! You slapped your hand over the painful bite on your shoulder, but it was too late. Just one remaining drop glistened on the tip of the syringe he held, and if that wasn’t enough to make you nearly sick with dread and anger, the shit-eating grin on Rick’s face was.  
“What… what a coincidence, you stumbling in here the same day as I completed this little tester.”  
“Mr Sanchez, what the hell are you -”  
  
Rick leaned back, completely at ease and watching you with mild interest, totally sure that you wouldn’t hit him or run away. And oh… something was kicking in. Your legs felt far away, your palms throbbing. A warmth spread through your body like after a first shot of liquor, trailing goose bumps in its wake. “Mmh.”  
“What’s… Hm, let’s see. What’s the pin code to your credit card?” He watched you still, twirling the syringe lazily between his long, elegant fingers.  
The words tumbled out without passing through your mind. “it’s… 5203.” oh God. You clamped your trembling hands over your mouth and stared at him, saw his grin widen and his eyes darken with a sick glee.  
“Oh, it’s nice to, y'know, it’s nice to know I’m still always right…” Rick moved in and trailed a finger down the side of your face, guided a few locks of your hair away from your face. “Don’t… there’s no need to look so worried, sweet cheeks. Nothing will happen that you don’t-don’t want.” His lips brushed your ear. “And I will know everything you want.”  
A shudder moved through your spine and that calm part of you who piloted everything and judged you and everyone else so harshly watched on without intervening. You weren’t frightened anymore, at least not much, and it wasn’t only because you felt drunk. And you realized why.  
None of this would be your fault. You didn’t have to choose anything, wouldn’t have to make any first moves, and still with this old creep who was so clever and so perfectly confident, you suddenly had the chance to do everything you had ever fantasized about, at no cost.  
That last thought made the fear creep back. You had fantasized about so many things, and you doubted he’d stop before he knew all of them.  
As if Rick had read your thoughts, he leaned out a little and cocked his head to one side. “You want me?”  
  
Unstoppable came the reply, escaping in a soft whisper “yes… and no”  
“No? And why’s that?”  
“I don’t think you’ll give me what I want. Most… most people don’t. I… I never tell them, because it’s too messed up”  
Rick pulled you close, onto him and you readily straddled him, parting your legs and pressing against his cock. God, it was already half hard, and you sighed quietly, head spinning, pussy longing for him to fill it up. To be honest, it took so little to get you like this that whatever effect that drug might have had hardly factored into it.  
“And what is it-is it you want that you think I can’t give you?”  
“I… I want someone to stretch me, hold me down. I want… mmh… I want someone to be selfish and rough with me”  
His eyes narrowed and you felt his dick jump at your words. When he replied, his voice was low, dark. “You want to be useful? Be my little toy?”  
“Oh God,” you moaned, “yes. I-I want my whole body to be used…”  
“Ohhh… you under-urp-estimate me, baby.” his eyes took you in greedily, glittering as the possibilities opened up before him. “I can find a lot of uses for it. Tell me… when you’re my, my little toy, how'dya want me to fill you up? Use all three of your pretty little holes to cum into?” God… you could imagine it so well, being at his mercy, lying fucked red raw on the floor in his room, cum trickling out of you, coating you… And he was disgusting, and he was honestly fairly ugly, and of course that just made it better. Worse. Both.  
  
You shivered violently and, encouraged, Rick brought his bony hands up to trail over your hips, squeeze your ass for a moment, then slip up underneath your t-shirt. He laughed again, reigning in his desire. “I do, y'know, I do jerk off pretty often - it’d be nice to have something to dump it into… it’d be very neat. But It’s more than that, isn’t it? You’d let me experiment on you…”  
God damn it. Why had he bothered with that shot if he could read your mind so easily just by what your face and your body betrayed? You nearly jumped under his touch, moaned at his words and nodded, frowning hard and wishing he’d slow down. It was too much, too many secrets spilled too soon. You couldn’t keep up, it felt like his hands around your waist was all that held you up and kept you from melting to the floor. What would he do? Tie you up? Change you, make you fit whatever horrible fantasies he might have, make you totally dependent on him… and every day you’d be fucked, just like you wanted, and wouldn’t have to care about anything else. To be this man’s tool… degraded.  
“Oh God, Mr Sanchez…” it was a sob, hopeless and broken.  
His warm, calloused hand came around to rest possessively on your stomach. The way your eyes instantly opened and focused on him with a look of panic was enough.  
“I thought so,” Rick murmured, and there was a hunger and a cruelty in his dark eyes that convinced you none of this would end at words. “You’d let me breed you, wouldn’t you?”  
Goddamnit, _how_? How did he do that?!  
“Oh God… yes… yes please…”  
“Mmmh… I’ve been thinking it might be time I gave it another try.” His voice was low, playful on the surface but too urgent to be just about teasing. “And you’re so young… I won’t have to come inside you many times before I have you knocked up.”  
“Rick…!”  
  
You had to distract him before he kept going. And his cock, pulsing through his trousers, felt so good pressing against your cunt… teasing you like this with just words was too much, too cruel, you couldn’t take it anymore. With shaking hands and tingling palms you reached for him, fumbling with his belt, the metal of the buckle warmed by his skin and your grinding against it. Without changing his expression he reached up to smack you over the side of your face, hard enough to smart, gentle enough to warn that next time would be harder.  
“What was it you wanted? What was it you said you wanted?”  
“Ahh…” another sob. “To… to be used…”  
“That’s right, my little bitch” he replied in an almost loving, mocking tone. “So don’t do shit before I tell you. I’m-I’m a busy man, don’t make me have to break you.”  
Was this a game? Was it real to him? Did it even matter? Your head swam, and if the drug had worn off you weren’t sure it would change a thing. Had you ever felt this desperate? Did it matter whether he would stop if you asked, if he still said and did all the right things? Yes… of course it mattered.  
The change in your expression was caught instantly, and Rick stroked the still stinging mark on your cheek. “You want me, little doll?”  
He was checking in. It was enough. A ghost of a smile on your face and a nod.  
“Yes, Mr Sanchez.” Although god alone knew why.  
He thrust up beneath you, still holding you in place, grinning darkly. Your eyes nearly swiveled into the back of your skull and he laughed at you. “So desperate for this old man’s cock…”  
“Please, let me have it… you’re teasing me so bad…”  
“First things first, sweetie. You gonna let me fuck you raw?”  
“Yes…”  
“No rubber?”  
“Never, Rick…”  
“And when I get you pregnant, you’re going to keep it. I’m… I’ll make you keep it. Fuck… you’re going to feel yourself change, your belly grow with my kid, aren’t you?” His voice was urgent now, words tumbling out fast. “And when your tits…” he finally reached up to cup them, to take the nipples between his fingers and twist at them, finally, and it felt so perfect you couldn’t hold back a whine for more, “when your tits are leaking and big, you’re going to let me fuck you between them.” You could imagine it so clearly, and it was enough to make you squeal. The weight of them, your swollen belly, his hard cock almost close enough to lick and taste, rubbing against you as he milked you - just like he was mocking now - and finally coating your face in white. You squirmed on top of him, leaning into his touch, whining and pleading without words for him to fuck you already. It wasn’t enough, he pretended not to understand.  
“I’ll do anything you want, anything, just please…”  
“Hah! Anything?” Rick sat back, pushed you away and then, painfully slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, began to unbuckle his belt. “You want to see? What was it you called me… oh yeah. An old lecher.”  
“I’m sorry, Rick…”  
“What are you going to give to taste this old lecher’s cock, huh?”  
“Anything!”  
  
With a rustle, the belt came loose and was tossed aside. One button came undone, springing free of the strain of the fabric, and another. You could practically see the blood pumping through him. “So when-when I’ve got you nice and bred like the cattle you are, and I’ve got no use for your eager, nasty little cunt anymore, you’re going to give me your ass instead?”  
God, yes… nothing would feel better, more perfect… it was selfish of him and you loved him for it. A weak nod was all he got as a reply.  
“Oh, I like you.” With theatrical slowness, he finally, at last, pulled his boxers down far enough to pull his dick out, and it lay straining against his stomach, twitching once, twice. It might well have been the most beautiful cock you’d ever seen - although to be fair, it would have seemed like that either way as far gone as you were now…  
He was so hard, the foreskin had completely pulled back to expose the smooth, slick head, and the skin itself was thin and taught, betraying the veins that trailed the length and pulsed visibly. Unsurprisingly, his gray treasure trail came to a halt before it reached its destination, trimmed short around the base and completely shaven underneath. You couldn’t take your eyes off him, and your mouth literally watered at the sight. You longed so badly to touch, taste, swallow it whole or spear yourself on it balls deep, never let it go, but the blow to your cheek had left an impression and all you could do was sit there, aching, making soft little sounds of hunger and giving him a pleading look. Another curt laugh.  
“Actually…” Rick made a gesture at his forehead, a mocking Columbo impression, then leaned back, no longer touching you, no longer moving things forward. “You-you know… that, uh, what you said earlier. It really hurt my feelings. About me being old.”  
“…pardon?”  
“Well… I mean here you are, grinding on me, practically drooling… you still think I’m too old for you?”  
He wasn’t going to let this go, and he watched you with a predatory expression, waiting to see where his little prey would try to scuttle off to next. And you looked at him, and knew that whatever he had given you had worn off already, and knew that he knew that, too.  
And you looked at him and saw an old drunk, with graying hair, wrinkles, one or two liver spot, veiny hands and… yes, it was impossible to ignore, a bald spot. If or when you were drawn to people over the age of fifty, it was despite these things, but there was that horrible leer again, telling you he wanted you to want him because of them.  
  
Rick wasn’t trying to show you a good side - not because he couldn’t, but because watching you squirm for him, like this, made his victory much more undeniable.  
Just like with any other game or half-serious power struggle, you could either push against him now, or surrender. But what did you really want more? To wipe that look off his horrible face, or fall and let him take his prize? Was that even a question? Besides, there would always be another day and another chance to turn the tables.  
So that was it. You locked eyes with him and took his hand, turning it around to nuzzle against the back of it, softly, slowly kissing the spots, the aged skin, letting your tongue trace the veins. Rick’s smile widened and out of the corner of your eye you could see his dick twitch again. His self command was truly admirable.  
“Good answer,” he managed.  
You motioned to lean in and asked “may I?”  
“Yeah. Show… show me what you’re good for.”  
His coat came off, and then his t-shirt. Every bit of skin uncovered you kissed, tenderly, softly, reverentially. At first he laughed, then he sighed, then he growled. When he held up his elbow for you to kiss the dry skin, you did it with just a glower and a blush - Rick was pushing his luck and you couldn’t deny him the pleasure of getting away with it.  
“Too old for you?”  
“…yes.”  
“Good-good girl.”  
You were at his neck now, kissing his ear, trailing down to his neck, soaking in his warmth and his scent and grinding gently against his cock. He was throwing you crumbs now, encouraging you with his voice, the low growls from his throat, his hungry gaze, leaning into your touch and bucking his hips against you.  
And then you were kissing his face, the wrinkles worry had traced across his forehead, and when you slipped a little lower, he moved in, tilted his head, betrayed how much he wanted to finally kiss you and make this whole sordid situation official. But Rick held back and turned his head, bent his neck.  
“See-you see that?”  
“Mr Sanchez… I get it.” But you didn’t dare protest more than this. Soft, gentle kisses on his thinning scalp and then that had got to be it, please, no more of this teasing, no more making you eat your words, no more words…  
  
That seemed to do it, and you had a faint notion that this had somehow sealed the spell; if you hadn’t been trapped and humiliated before, this would have cemented it. Rick snaked up again to grab your neck and this time you followed where he brought you. This time you were grateful that he took command.  
Of course, you knew what he wanted and you leapt at it, slid off his lap and got between his knees.  
“P-pull down your pants,” Rick managed in a hoarse whisper. He stared down at you hovering over his cock and he groaned. “You’re going to let me fuck your mouth, and you’re going to come before I do. Y-you’re going to come with this old grandpa’s dick pushing down your throat, and then you’re going to swallow. You got that?”  
You were tearing at your fly before he’d even half finished his sentences and pulled your thong aside just far enough so that you could reach everything you needed to. And before he could start another speech, you caught the head of his cock between your lips and started coating it.  
And oh fuck, he tasted good… soap, a hint of fresh sweat and precum. You eagerly traced the slit with your tongue, pressing against it, lapping up every drop you could coax from it and shoved a hand down your pants just as he’d ordered while cupping his balls with the other. Rick fell back against the couch with a groan and a curse. His stomach muscles tensed and his whole body seemed to tremble.  
“Fuck,” he managed after another moment, “I knew you’d be good at that, m-my little slut…”  
Your ears burned and you moaned, and you bobbed your head fast now to take as much of him in as you could manage, tried to encourage him to keep humiliating you. If that wasn’t enough to convince him you loved sucking on him, the wet noises as you began rubbing your clit and teasing your entrance was sure to do it. Rick barely managed to sit up enough to look down at you, but he chuckled weakly.  
“That’s… that’s it, my little animal. You slobber on my dick, you get a reward. Think you can remember that?”  
His cock throbbed and jumped against your tongue, and every time you pushed down you let it strain against the back of your throat. And already just the fact that he was so thick made your jaw ache. You felt grateful for it, the pain, the discomfort, the warning of nausea when you let him slide too deep - what was more perfect than pushing yourself like this for his pleasure?  
  
The two fingers working your clit mercilessly were so soaked and slippery it was hard to even find the right place to rub, but it didn’t matter. Rick had teased you so badly, and it had been so long since someone took you apart like this, and sucking cock just felt so goddamn perfect that any friction would have done.  
And picturing what you must look like, down on this horrible carpet, worshiping this strangers balls and fucking yourself without caring a rats ass about the squelching and slurping echoing through the sleeping house… it was a dream. Already the crash of waves were coming closer and you knew they would soon break over you. All it would take was another few words, a few thrusts of his narrow hips…  
Rick was almost squirming with frustration and he grabbed a handful of your hair, held you firmly in place and began to fuck your mouth without mercy, fast, long strokes that made your eyes brim with tears and your throat gag and force out a cough each time his spit-slick cock slid back out for one brief moment.  
“That’s it, t-take it… let me hear you gag on me” He cursed again and fucked you even faster, pulled your hair on purpose, stared down at you with an expression that made you doubt whether he even saw another human being there below him. “I don’t fucking care if you start crying, if-if-if you get sick… you’ve just gotta swallow it down and keep going, you hear me?”  
  
And that was it, the perfect moment, the worst point you could have picked… with a high-pitched sob and loud, mewling, pathetic, broken, muffled moans you came, came so hard it hurt and you half worried you’d bite down on him just from the spasms. It shook you through the core, your cunt so painfully empty you cried out again and quickly shoved your fingers inside to stretch yourself and feel your muscles squeeze rhythmically around them.  
At no point through this did Rick let up. All he did to mark the occasion was to laugh at you and thrust up so hard, new tears spilled down your cheeks, bringing your mascara along with it. “That’s it,” he sighed as you had finished and calmed down and only the last few shivers remained. “Good bitch, fucking yourself for me… just… just stay like that and you’ll get a nice treat…”  
It was a blur of discomfort, neck pain, almost getting sick and almost coming all over again and then Rick was biting down on his hand with a guttural moan, forcing your head down and holding it in place, and you felt his balls tensing, and he came, came over and over in hot bursts, making you cough and cry out as you struggled to get away, to swallow, to breathe. It was horrible, and it was glorious.  
  
As the last mouthfuls coated your tired tongue, he finally let go and allowed you to come up to breathe. You swallowed, coughed, took deep lungfuls of air, still obediently ducked down in between them to lap up the very last drops.  
“Fuckkk,” he cursed. His eyes took you in, the state you were in, and for a second you could have sworn that he was almost shocked at what he’d done.  
It was impossible to place when the tears still trickling down your flushed face were still from choking and when they turned into good old fashioned crying.  
But your sniffles wouldn’t stop and silently you gave in, shaking with shock, confusion and, well… perhaps just a little bit of latent shame. And although Rick didn’t quite manage to hide his discomfort at this display, he must have known intimately what you were going through - that painful, aching feeling of having had something you’d fantasized about come true, and finding that the high was almost a little too high, and the real body you landed in when the high subsided was just a little too real, a little too shocked, a little too dehydrated.  
  
Without a word he reached down and pulled you up onto the sofa, fluffed the cushion behind you, found his coat on the floor and wrapped it over your shivering, bare arms.  
Whatever happened next, this was good. You leaned against his shoulder once he’d settled back in his seat, indulged in the scent of him on the warm fabric of his coat and noticed how your breathing slowed to the same pace while you both recovered.  
He wasn’t a nice man and you didn’t care enough about him to be worried by something like that, but he hadn’t treated you like shit and that, you reflected - half bitterly, half just plain old realistically - was a rare and precious thing. And if he tried to some other time, well… you could give him some scars of your own.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a dream I had, because sometimes my brain is nice to me. This is also the first fic (or anything) I've written in 10+ years, so I'm not really looking for criticism - I need to get used to writing without hating myself before I can handle anything other than encouragement. Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
